Conclusion
by doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Glenn didn't intend for Daryl to stay the night when he invited him in. But he did stay. In fact, he never really left again. Picks up at the end of part two of the Age is Just a Number series; preceded by Words Like Cocaine, Old Habits and Perspective.


**Author's Note: **Well, here we are. The final part of the Age is Just a Number series. I've been working on this on and off for quite some time now and while I'm really happy with some parts of it, I'm not so happy with others. In the end, I hope you lovely readers enjoy. xo.

**Conclusion.**

Glenn doesn't intend for Daryl to stay the night. He invites him in, yes, but he _truly _doesn't intend for him to stay the night. He thinks that they'll have some coffee in the kitchen (or maybe tea, although he isn't sure if he has either of those), talk a little bit about whatever the fuck is going on between them and then Daryl will leave.

The only part of his plan that actually happens is the coffee. He bypasses sitting at the kitchen table because quite frankly, it seems to lean more and more every day and he really doesn't trust it. So he takes the coffee into the living room, where Daryl is already sitting and Glenn has to try really, really hard not to think about how good Daryl looks on his couch.

It doesn't work.

When he finally gets back to his coffee, an hour and a half later, it's so cold and tastes so foul that he dumps it off the balcony. When he goes back inside, Daryl is nearly asleep on the couch, shirt still halfway across the room, jeans on but unbuttoned. Glenn throws a blanket over him and collapses in his bed, legs still wobbly from the sex he's missed so much.

When he wakes up at four o'clock in the morning to get a glass of water, Daryl's still there. Glenn knows that, realistically, he _should_ wake the man up and tell him to hit the road. But that would kind of be a dick move so instead, he fixes the blanket again and goes back to sleep with very explicit images dancing in his head.

* * *

Daryl sleeps on his couch for four nights in a row. On night five, he comes back from work looking so tired and so sore that Glenn practically shoves him onto his bed. When he comes back in ten minutes later with a piece of pizza, Daryl's already passed out, still wearing his work boots and grungy jeans.

Glenn takes off his boots off for him, tosses the blankets over him and tiptoes around his apartment all evening. When he finally falls asleep, it's contently, with the sound of Daryl breathing beside him.

After that, it only seems natural that Daryl moves in with him. It doesn't happen all at once; over the next few weeks, Daryl comes back from work a little later than usual and with a few extra things of his own. The hall closet starts to fill up with work boots, thick winter jackets and a reflective vest or two. The floor of Glenn's bedroom gradually becomes harder and harder to find, buried under more and more clothes and suddenly, there's more beer in his fridge than juice.

But they don't talk about it, even when Glenn comes home from one of his evening shifts at work to see a massive pair of deer antlers mounted above the television. They don't talk about the fact that things are probably (okay, _definitely)_ going a little too fast and they definitely don't talk about how things are feeling _way _too domestic.

They also don't talk about the fact that neither of them mind.

Glenn figures that he should probably tell his mother, but every time he picks up the phone, he starts to feel sick and hangs back up. He doesn't even know how to begin that conversation.

_Hey Ma, remember Daryl? Y'know, the one who fucked us both? We've been back together for three weeks and he's living with me now. Love you!_

Yeah, that wasn't going to work.

Four days before Christmas, his mom calls to inform him that she and Shane are coming over on Christmas Eve, no ifs, ands or buts. He spends most of the phone call opening and closing his mouth in rapid succession, trying to sneak a word in edgewise but by the time she hangs up, he hasn't mentioned anything about Daryl, who is smirking at him from the couch.

"You want me to call her back?" he asks, reaching for the phone. Glenn tosses it across the room in the general direction of his secondhand armchair and tackles Daryl back into the couch.

He finds out later, just after his teeth have punctured the arm of the sofa, that whatever they use to stuff couches tastes quite disgusting, but not disgusting enough for him to make Daryl stop.

* * *

He's surprised at how well Christmas Eve with his mother goes. For a few moments, he's convinced that Shane and Daryl are about to get into it and he really doesn't want that to happen; he's pretty sure that Daryl has a good chance against him (even if Shane has gotten even more huge, like Shane to the power of Shane or something) but either way, the apartment will get torn apart and then he'd have to clean it again.

Plus, he has very fond memories of all his Christmases. He doesn't want to ruin that.

Thankfully, they get over it just long enough to have what is possibly the shortest handshake in known existence and before he knows it, he's stuck on the couch with his mother and they're both staring at the floor and he r_eally _doesn't know how to start the conversation that they really need to have.

"How long?" When she finally speaks, his mother is quiet, gazing at the floor and Glenn feels so sick to his stomach that the smell of turkey almost makes him throw up.

"Um, three weeks?" She sighs heavily and he follows her lead, staring at the floor and counting all the cookie crumbs he'd missed with the broom.

"Why didn't you tell me, sweetheart?" she whispers and Glenn quickly rubs at his eyes, banishing the tears that have popped up. He knows that it isn't fair what he's doing to her, again.

"I didn't know how to," he admits. He catches a snippet of Daryl's voice, sounding rather pissed off, but he doesn't hear the specific words. So long as him and Shane don't knock over the kitchen table, it can wait.

"Sweetie." Before he can say anything in response, his mom is pulling him into her arms and well, there's no way he can stop the tears now.

"I just want you to be happy," she murmurs into his hair. "I love you, Glenn. _Are_ you happy?"

"I am, Ma. I really am."

"Good. But just so you know… Glenn, I'm not really okay with this. But you're an adult and it's your choice. It's just going to take me awhile to be… well, to be okay."

"That's fine," he says into her neck. "I'm so sorry, Ma. I love you."

The rest of the night goes well; the food that he's spent the last two days working on tastes more than passable and despite some weird looks from Shane, everyone gets along and minds their own business. His mother starts to cry again when she leaves and Glenn makes a mental note to call her more often.

Once she's left, he finds Daryl on the balcony, arms crossed on the railing, smoking a cigarette. Glenn leans beside him and his sigh of relief is visible in the cold night air.

"That wasn't too bad," he says and Daryl nods, throwing his smoke away and moving to stand in front of Glenn. For a few seconds, Glenn kind of forgets where he is because this man, his boyfriend (to get technical with it), is staring at him with nothing less than happiness in his eyes.

"Bet next year will be even better," he murmurs and Glenn is really happy that Daryl kisses him at that moment because it lets him bite back three words that he knows it's too soon to say.

* * *

On New Year's, they sit on the balcony, wrapped in all four of Daryl's super-thick sleeping bags, watching the fireworks go off across the city. By the time midnight comes around, Daryl's gone through half a pack of cigarettes and between them, they've demolished a twelve-pack of beer. It's the most Glenn's ever drank in one sitting and he just feels so, so happy and really quite warm. As soon as the fireworks are done, he stumbles inside and starts tearing at his shirt, desperate to get it off.

Daryl's on him before his shirt hits the ground.

He wakes up in the morning, still on the living room floor. His head is on Daryl's chest, his mouth is dry and his knees are definitely bruised. Daryl's already awake and staring at the ceiling but as soon as Glenn shifts an inch, his lips are pressed to the top of his head.

"Mornin'," he murmurs and that's enough to make Glenn feel like the luckiest man in the world.

* * *

He wasn't stupid. He knew that things weren't going to stay one hundred percent forever. Sooner or later, they would get harder. That was simply how relationships worked.

He just wasn't expecting it to get so much harder, all at once.

It starts when their schedules start to conflict. Most days, Daryl is up and out of the house before seven o'clock; Glenn's lucky if he's crawled out of bed by nine. After that, it's essentially class until the early evening and then it's either work or assignments. By the time he falls into bed, Daryl's usually been asleep for three hours.

But Glenn can deal with that, because there's always the weekends, when neither of them work and they can do whatever they want. They can sleep in until one or have sex (on the counter…and the floor… and in the shower) or they can watch James Bond movies over and over again.

But it isn't just the schedules. It's the fighting.

It starts out small. Glenn makes a comment about the deer antlers and Daryl stops talking to him for an hour. Daryl drinks a six pack of beer in one evening and gets annoyed when Glenn is too busy studying to drive him to the store to get some more. One night, Glenn loses track of time and stays at the library until after midnight and when he gets home, the place smells like home cooked food that was tossed into the garbage.

So on and so forth.

But things don't always stay small. Sometimes, they can't just fix everything in a few hours. Sometimes, they both say things they really don't mean and Glenn knows that it happens to everyone but after _those _fights, he feels like the most horrible person in the world.

It's the middle of March when things hit their crescendo.

It's a stupid fight. Glenn knows that it's a really, _really_ stupid fight. One of his friends had walked him home after work and given him a hug in the parking lot. Simple as that. Sure, to some people, it might have looked like something more than friendly; Wayne did have the tendency to be a little too affectionate but it was simply his nature. Glenn knows that it doesn't mean anything sexual.

Daryl, apparently, does not.

"Who was that?" When he comes inside, Daryl is out on the balcony with the door open, tapping a cigarette over the railing. Even from the back, Glenn can tell by the set of his shoulders that he's tense so he really doesn't know why he says what he does.

"Why does it matter?" That's enough to make Daryl twist around, cigarette tossed over the rail, eyes flashing with an emotion Glenn has seen way too much of in the last few weeks.

"Am I not allowed to wonder 'bout who's hugging you?" he asks and when he pulls the door shut, it quivers in its frame. Glenn's too tired to deal with this; he didn't get much sleep and work was a drag and he really just wants to curl up in bed with Daryl and a DVD but Daryl's voice is getting louder and louder and he's yelling back and before he knows it, he's screaming _get out._

For about three minutes after Daryl leaves, slamming the door behind him, Glenn feels good. He feels like he took control of the situation, like he was in charge for once, like he put his foot down.

And then he realizes what he's done and he sinks to the floor, biting back tears (with no success), on the verge of hyperventilating because Jesus, what is his problem_? _Why couldn't he have just answered Daryl's question normally? Why, on today of all days, did he insist upon being an absolute jackass?

(Sure, he knows that Daryl overreacted a little bit. But still. He isn't going to shove all the blame off on him, even if it _is _convenient. That would be a lie and if there's one thing he's forever sick of, it's lying.)

He falls asleep on the floor underneath the phone, waiting and waiting for it to ring. When he wakes up, the sun is shining through the windows, his neck hurts so fucking much and there are no messages waiting on the answering machine.

Fuck.

He goes off to school, like any other day, but he hardly takes any notes. Instead, he fiddles with his cell phone, constantly checking for a call. He does get one around noon, when he's halfheartedly eating cafeteria food but it turns out to be a telemarketer.

He tells them to go screw themselves and continues to check his phone until it dies.

* * *

Ten days.

Ten days go by without a word from Daryl. Every day, Glenn curses the man for being too goddamn stubborn to own a cell phone and every day, Glenn curses himself for being so damn stupid.

But by day eleven, he's actually starting to get used to the quiet. He's used to the television _not _blaring hunting or fishing shows and he actually has room in his fridge to put drinks other than beer. He even starts to ignore Daryl's clothes on his floor; he merely kicks them into the corner so that he can find his own, buried underneath tattered jeans and plaid button-downs.

However, it's also day eleven, when he is sitting on the living room couch trying to wrap his head around his Community Intervention textbook, that there's a knock at the door. Immediately, he stops twiddling his pen and turns to stare in the general direction of the entrance. It's ten o'clock in the evening; there's no way any of his neighbors could be complaining about the noise and unless his mother is dropping by for a surprise visit…

_Daryl._

He's up and at the door within five seconds, arms pinwheeling as his socks slip on the floor. He flings the door open so hard it hits the wall (oops) and sure enough, Daryl's there, cigarette in the corner of his mouth, wrapped up in his leather jacket, unshaven and, judging by the bags underneath his eyes, almost sleepless.

He doesn't think he's ever seen anyone he's wanted so much.

"Can I come back?" The words are muttered but Glenn's gotten used to deciphering mutters and grumbles and grunts so he just nods and steps back, letting Daryl come in. As soon as the door is closed again, Daryl drops his battered backpack, pulls his cigarette out of his mouth and pulls Glenn flush to him, arm wrapped tightly around his waist.

"Missed you, kid," he murmurs and trickles of smoke fall from the corners of his lips. Glenn wants to say something smart. He wants to tell Daryl that he's sorry and that he loves him and that he really, really doesn't want him to leave again.

He decides to kiss him instead. It seems to do the trick.

* * *

He never does ask where Daryl went for those ten days. Truth be told, he isn't sure that he wants to know.

* * *

They fall back into the same routine in near silence. Glenn knows they _should _talk about what happened but talking about it runs the risk of it happening again. So, they don't and for a few weeks, life is strangely good.

Then, in Glenn's last week of school, they get a phone call. That's a normal enough occurrence (usually it's telemarketers) but it's the voice on the other end that's the unusual part. Glenn doesn't recognize the number but it's not an 1-800 number or something completely unrecognizable so he picks it up anyways, one eye on the clock.

"Hello?" He really doesn't have time for this; he's supposed to be writing an exam in half an hour but Daryl isn't home so it's down to him.

"Who's this?"

"Uh, this is Glenn, I live here. Who are you?"

"What are you talking about, boy? Is this some kind of joke?"

"Look here, jerk," Glenn says, taking another nervous glance at the clock, "I don't have any damn time for this. Who are you and what the hell do you want?"

"My brother gave me this number to call, you fucking prick, so you put him on, right now."

Glenn hangs up. Daryl has mentioned his brother a few times before but always in the most negative sense. Why in the _hell_ would he give him the phone number for their apartment?

Glenn doesn't know, but he doesn't have any time to think about it either. He races out the door, just barely catches the bus and tries to put Merle Dixon out of his head for the time being.

When he gets home, he's pretty damn sure he failed the exam and he wants nothing more than to grab a beer and curl up with Daryl, but the instant he walks in the door, he knows his day has just gone right to hell.

Goddamn it.

Even with their bedroom door shut, he can hear Daryl bellowing through the phone at his brother, cursing up a storm and apparently stomping around the room, judging by the noise. Glenn's really at a loss of what to do; on one hand, if Daryl doesn't calm down, the neighbors are going to put in a noise complaint and Glenn _really _doesn't want to have to deal with that again. On the other hand, if he walks in while Daryl is raving, there's a chance he'll get caught in the crossfire and dealing with Daryl walking out on him again seems even worse than a noise complaint.

So he waits until he hears nothing but silence coming from the bedroom. Even then, he gives it another five minutes before getting off the couch and tiptoeing to the bedroom door, knocking on the door as quietly as he can.

"Daryl? Can I come in?"

"No!" The answer doesn't exactly surprise Glenn; it certainly isn't the first time it's happened, after all. So instead of sulking outside the bedroom door like a stubborn teenager, he steals the last can of beer from the fridge and sits on the balcony, biding his time.

He's nearly done his beer by the time that Daryl steps out onto the balcony, cigarette already stuck between his lips. Glenn really feels like he should say something but he's learned from experience that trying to force Daryl to speak will only backfire. So he waits once again, finishing the beer while Daryl smokes his cigarette and finally, just when Glenn thinks he might explode, Daryl finally speaks.

"Merle didn't know."

"Well, I figured that from his phone manners," Glenn replies, crumpling the can and dropping it beside the wobbly lawn chair he'd picked up at a yard sale.

"No, not that." Daryl is speaking so quietly that Glenn has to stand up and lean against the railing beside him, just to catch all the words. "I mean, he didn't know 'bout that either. Used to call me a fag and stuff when we were kids but he wasn't serious…"

"So he was completely in the dark? About everything?" After a few seconds, Daryl nods, still staring down into the parking lot. Glenn just sighs and steps closer, laying one hand on Daryl's back. The muscles between his fingers immediately tense up but he doesn't move away. Instead, he starts working at the knots, pressing with his palms and fingertips until Daryl is practically leaning over the railing, making the occasional grunt that Glenn knows is one of his happy ones.

"Feel any better?" Daryl nods again, muttering something like _thank you_. Glenn doesn't bother to pursue the issue any further; if he does that, the man will just lock back up again. He gets that Daryl wasn't raised to talk about his feelings and stuff and Glenn tries his best to deal with it.

"By the way, we're gonna need a new phone," Daryl says, standing up straight and arching his back until it cracks. "I kinda… well."

"That's fine," Glenn says, leaning his forehead against Daryl's shoulder blade, surprised with how okay he is about the situation. "I'll get us a new phone if you get us some more beer tomorrow."

"Where'd it all go?"

"Drank it. Exams are stressful, you know." When Daryl twists around, he's actually smiling a little bit, even if it doesn't reach his eyes.

Hey, Glenn will take what he can get.

* * *

Less than a week later, when he's on his lunch break at work, Glenn gets a call from his mother. At first, it's hard to tell that it's even her speaking because all Glenn hears is a lot of squealing in both Korean and English. After holding his cell phone away from his ear for a good minute, she finally quiets down and he can actually bring the speaker back to his head without risk of his ears bleeding.

"Ma, _what _are you screaming about?"

"Shane asked me to marry him, Glenn! I'm getting married!" The words after that are too high-pitched to decipher but Glenn thinks he's heard all he needs to get the point.

By the time he gets home in the early evening, Daryl is just finishing making supper. By making supper, Glenn means that Daryl has just taken the frozen pizza out of the oven but still.

"Did work go alright?" The image is strangely domestic; Daryl's got oven mitts on, their plates are already stacked on the counter and most of the dishes are done, sitting in the drying rack. Glenn slides his backpack off his back and discreetly pinches himself _hard _in the arm, aware that this must be a hallucination or something.

Nope. He's just that lucky.

"Well, Ma's getting married…"

* * *

Two weeks later, Glenn gets the invitation in the mail.

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of _

_**Sheila Rhee**_

_and_

_**Shane Walsh**_

_on August 3__rd__, 2012 _

_at 342 Oak Crescent_

_Please RSVP by July 1__st_

After Glenn gets done snickering at the fact that his mom is getting married in her back yard (and in two months!), he notices the other line of text underneath the details. This one is in his mom's curly handwriting and even after he reads it twice, he thinks that he must have the wrong invitation.

_And sweetie, you can bring Daryl if you'd like. Love, Ma._

Then again, as far as he knows, he's the only child his mother has. Which means that his mother just officially invited Daryl to her wedding. Which means that him and Daryl will be going together. As a couple. They haven't even gone to the movie theater together!

When he shows the invitation to Daryl (after much deliberation), Daryl gives it a quick glance over before shrugging and tossing it onto the coffee table, looking like he's just glanced through the Best Buy flyer or something.

"I'll come. What's the worst that could happen?"

It's shaping up to be a good summer.

* * *

Spoke too soon.

Really, other than the fact that Daryl seems _way _too cool with the whole wedding situation, the first month of summer surprisingly goes fairly well. Since he doesn't have classes anymore, Glenn picks up more hours at the grocery store, which means more money. Most of it goes towards paying for rent and food and contributing to next semester's tuition and textbooks but there's a bit left for spending money, which means that Glenn can finally complete his James Bond DVD collection.

Funny how the simple things in life can make everything seem so fantastic.

Of course, that's not the only great thing about the first month of summer. Besides the DVD's, Daryl starts walking around shirtless whenever he's home. Some of it is for practical purposes (running an air conditioner all day leads to some pretty expensive hydro bills) but Glenn is almost certain that Daryl does it so often just because he knows Glenn likes it.

Bastard.

And then Merle shows up and that's when things spiral back out of control.

There's absolutely no warning; Glenn simply comes home from work one day and there's a strange man sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. He's wearing steel toed boots that have to be size fourteen at the least and Glenn is actually afraid that the glass table is just going to crack underneath him. Everything about him screams rough and tumble, from his dirty, ripped jeans to the bad buzz cut to the fresh scratch on his temple. When he turns his head, the smile on his face is anything but kind. In fact, smile isn't even an appropriate term for it. It's a fucking leer.

This is obviously Merle Dixon.

"Well what do we have here?" Glenn had _really _been hoping that Merle would have been content with just leering, but nope. He's leaning forward, one hand clutching a beer with practiced ease, _tsktsking_ like a damn schoolteacher.

"You must be Glenn." Glenn doesn't like the way Merle says his name. It sounds like a threat, somehow.

"And you must be Merle." With that, Glenn crosses the living room, eyes fixed firmly on the closed bedroom door, where he can hear Daryl shuffling around. He almost makes it scot free but at the last possible second, Merle's hand closes around his arm. His fingers are covered in scars and Glenn knows that if he makes even one wrong move, Merle could break his wrist like it was a twig. So instead, he sucks in a deep breath and waits, still staring at the door that is his salvation.

"You know, there's just one thing my little brother wouldn't tell me 'bout you. Told me yer name, where you and him were all shacked up like lovebirds, after some persuasion of course, but he wouldn't say how old you were. And now that I've got a good look at ya, I think I can understand why. You even legal yet, boy?"

"I don't think that's any of your damn business." The fingers tighten painfully around his arm and in the razor-sharp silence that follow, Glenn is almost positive that his bone is about to pop out of his skin. He knows he's trembling like a child but fuck being a man because Merle Dixon is absolutely fucking _terrifying. _

"I'd watch your goddamn tone if I were you, slant-eyed. Daryl might have forgot what our Pa taught us, but I sure as hell haven't." With those last words, Merle releases his wrists and Glenn finally gets into the bedroom, all too aware that his hands are shaking as he throws his backpack onto the unmade bed. Daryl is pulling a shirt over his head, skin still damp from the shower and tempting as the image would be any other time, Glenn doesn't have the time for it. He's already scrambling around his side of the bed, picking a pair of jeans off the floor and squishing them into his backpack without bothering to take out the remnants of his lunch. He's got his phone charger shoved in as well before Daryl actually takes notice and shuts the bedroom door, standing against it like he's guarding a prison.

"Glenn-"

"Daryl, don't. Seriously, don't." Glenn stares at Daryl for as long as he comfortably can before digging some socks and boxers out of his dresser. He grabs four of each, just in case and when he turns around again, Daryl is still standing at the door, looking both regretful and angry at the same time.

"What did you want me to do, toss him back into the street like a damn dog?" he asks, fingernails curling into the already dented door. Glenn can tell from the growl in his voice that Daryl is about to tip from being upset to angry but for once, he doesn't give a damn.

"Yes, Daryl, that's exactly what I want you to do! Or, better yet, I would have loved it if you hadn't told him where we lived in the first place!" He knows that he's yelling but he's so done with this situation. Night after night, he's mouthed over scars and burns that Merle had inflicted on Daryl's body. He's tried so goddamn hard to erase all the invisible wounds that Daryl tried to hide and, even if his opinion is a little biased, he thinks that he was making pretty damn good progress.

And now, this. Now, Daryl's racist, abusive, probably homophobic brother is sitting on the couch like he's just dropped by to watch the Sunday game and Glenn really, _really _doesn't have it in him to deal with it.

"He's my goddamn brother, Glenn," Daryl growls, stepping away from the door and Glenn takes advantage of Daryl's movement, twisting the doorknob and getting back out into the living room before Daryl can shut the door again.

"Well, when your _goddamn brother _is gone, I'll come home." With that, he leaves, slamming the door hard enough to make the hinges whine in protest.

He gets to the elevator before he breaks down, holding his head in his hands and cursing the tears that fall. Him and Daryl were doing so well but the fact that Daryl couldn't even consult him before letting Merle into their apartment, into their goddamn _home_…

Well, he doesn't quite know what to do with that information. But it's nothing good.

He gets to his mom's house half an hour later and admittedly, he feels bad for not calling her ahead of time. She opens the door in her bright pink bathrobe (which is starting to look a little bit tattered around the edges) and says _Glenn, honey, what's wrong?_

Funny how you can _think _you're done crying.

After he's done explaining the whole situation to his mother (who deserves an award for being a goddamn saint because really, he's a terrible son), he curls up on the couch in the living room and puts one of the movie channels on. It's like he's in high school all over again and he has to admit, it's kind of relaxing.

He falls asleep on the couch with one of the Rocky movies playing and when he wakes up in the morning, he has no missed calls.

Four days go by. Admittedly, by day four, Glenn's starting to get nervous. His mind goes through all the possibilities; maybe Daryl's just decided that he'd rather live with his brother than Glenn. If that's the case, that's a _real _dick move, considering Glenn's name is on the lease. But on the other hand…

Daryl only talks about Merle once in awhile, but the stories are rarely good. He knows that Merle has ended up in jail at least once, possibly twice, and he knows from the scars on Daryl's body that he has the potential to be violent. What if…

No, that's stupid. But still, he can't help but worry, whenever he has the time. Really, his mom has been keeping him too busy to worry about much of anything. He doesn't think he's ever talked about weddings so much but he also doesn't think that he's ever seen his Ma so happy. Sure, she'd been happy with his dad until he passed away, and she'd been happy with Daryl (for awhile) but this is an entirely new level of joy. He doesn't think that she's stopped smiling once since he came home and every time she sees Shane, he thinks that she's going to just explode.

If it was anyone else, Glenn would find it a little sickening, if he's being honest.

By the morning of day five, Glenn thinks he never wants to hear about flowers or place settings or weddings again. But he still hasn't heard anything from Daryl and when he finally gets the nerve to call the apartment, there's no answer.

Which means that he has to deal with his mom and Shane being lovey-dovey until he gets the nerve to call back. Which could take anywhere from three hours to three days.

He doesn't have to wait nearly that long. They're eating dinner when there's a knock on the door. His mom gets up to get it and Glenn doesn't really think anything of it because his mom made lasagna and holy _God_ is it delicious.

Then he hears _Glenn_ coming from the doorway and when he looks up, Daryl is standing there, unshaven, a fresh black eye gleaming on his face. He looks like absolute hell and as pissed off as Glenn knows he _should _be, he can't help but immediately jump out of his seat, dropping his fork with a clang. Shane keeps eating, one eyebrow raised but otherwise silent. His mother is standing behind Daryl, gnawing nervously on her nails, clearly uncomfortable with having him in her home again.

"Let's talk outside," Glenn says, taking Daryl's hand and stepping back outside. He gives his mother an apologetic smile and then there's nothing but the warm night air and Daryl, who is staring at him with an intensity he's never seen.

"What happened to your eye?" he asks, running one finger over the bruised skin.

"Merle," Daryl mutters, hissing quietly. "Shoulda known it'd happen eventually."

"Where is he now?"

"Gone. Sent his ass packing, like I should have when he first showed up."

"Is this your way of saying sorry?" Glenn asks, aware that his back is against the wall of the house. Daryl steps forward, his hands slowly coming to rest on Glenn's hips and Glenn knows that he doesn't have a chance.

"Suppose it is."

Glenn doesn't bother to answer with words; instead, he grabs the collar of Daryl's jacket and pulls him down, kissing him hard enough to draw blood from the fresh wound on Daryl's lip. It doesn't bother him nearly as much as it should.

Come to think of it, there's a _lot _of things about Daryl that should bother him, but don't. He doesn't know what that says about himself. Nothing good, probably, but with Daryl's dull nails catching on the small of his back and the smell of smoke strong in his nose, Glenn decides that he _really _doesn't care.

* * *

The wedding approaches faster and faster and four days before, Daryl gets moody. Glenn actually isn't surprised; he'd known that Daryl had accepted the wedding invitation with too much ease. So when Daryl gets withdrawn and starts snapping for no reason, Glenn does the first thing he can think of.

He calls his Ma, explains the situation and then shoves the phone into Daryl's hand before leaving the living room. He tries very hard not to listen to Daryl's side of the conversation but that proves difficult and eventually, he gives in, opening the bedroom door a crack and sticking his ear to it.

"Sheila, it's gonna be… of course I do, what the hell… but… goddamn it woman, you this forceful about everything… yeah, I know you invited me, but ain't it gonna be awkward… alright, sweet Jesus, I'll come to yer damn wedding, Christ almighty."

When Daryl comes into the bedroom, he's shaking his head and Glenn can't help but laugh.

"Your Ma is a scary broad," he says, collapsing on the bed face down. Glenn puts his book (that he wasn't reading) down and nudges Daryl's ribs until he rolls over, hair falling into his eyes.

"You think you'd know that by now," Glenn replies, trying really, _really _hard to forget about Daryl sleeping with his mother. "Now, you do know you're gonna have to wear a suit, right?"

Daryl rolls back over and mutters _fuck off _into the pillow. It's the exact same thing he mutters four days later, two hours before the wedding, when Glenn is vainly trying to remember how real ties work.

"You're impossible," he murmurs, trying very hard to remember the one internet video he's seen about how Windsor knots work. After half an hour and a lot of cursing, he has to cut the tie off Daryl's neck.

Whatever. He got him in a suit with only a little fuss. That's enough of an accomplishment for one day.

The wedding itself is really small; there's maybe fifty people in the backyard of his Ma's house, all of them sitting on plastic chairs that were rented from a high school. The rows aren't exactly even and there isn't really a separation of the bride and groom's guests but frankly, Glenn thinks it's a perfect wedding. His Ma looks absolutely gorgeous in her dress (even if the train is dragging on the grass) and even if Shane is nearly bursting out of his tux (seriously, he needs to stop with the muscles), the grin on his face shows how happy he is.

It's a fairly short ceremony and there are a lot of tears (_especially _from his Ma, bless her) and when Glenn reaches for Daryl's hand, Daryl doesn't flinch away. He holds it for the rest of the ceremony and when his Ma is walking back down the aisle, arm in arm with Shane, Daryl leans over and kisses him on the cheek. It's a fleeting touch but Glenn still feels himself blush.

Basically, it's a _really _good wedding.

* * *

The reception, on the other hand, is a little weird.

For one thing, there's a bigger crowd. The high school gym they've rented out for the night is practically full of people, most of whom Glenn doesn't recognize. Most of them are drinking, dipping into the alcoholic punch or clutching beers they've brought in from outside and of those people, a lot of them start asking questions.

Awkward questions.

"So Glenn, who's that?" It's one of his mom's co-workers, a lady named Evelyn, who he hasn't seen for a really long time. She approaches him when Daryl is off to the side, actually engaging in conversation with Shane's best man. Glenn swallows heavily, stomach churning with uncertainty, before he answers.

"That's Daryl, my… boyfriend," he finally spits out, turning his gaze to the floor.

"Oh." The word is barely audible above the noise of the music and when Glenn looks back up, Evelyn has disappeared back into the crowd. Obviously, she doesn't stay quiet, because from that point onward, he gets a lot of weird looks and even more questions.

"He's a little… old, isn't he?"

"Didn't I see him and your mom together once?"

"Glenn, are you sure you're even… you know?"

The last question, which comes from one of his mom's cousins (or coworkers, he isn't really sure) is the last straw. He leaves the gym as quietly as he can; he may be pissed off but it's his Ma's day and he really doesn't want to ruin it for her. Outside in the hallway, it's a lot quieter and almost completely empty, with the exception of a young boy and girl sitting against the lockers. Glenn recognizes the boy as the son of Shane's best man so he goes to sit beside them, peeking at the old school Gameboy Color he's holding in his hand.

"Whatcha playing?"

"Pokemon Blue. Ever played it?"

"Yeah, it was my favorite when I was younger! Mind if I watch?"

Glenn isn't sure how long he sits there for, craning his neck to watch the pixilated battles taking place on the tiny screen. He knows that quite a few guests leave but it's only when he notices that Sophia (who is Carl's best friend, in her own words) has fallen asleep on Carl's shoulder that he realizes he hasn't spoken to Daryl in hours.

"I should probably go find… well, I should probably go," he says, standing up and wincing at the pain shooting through his tailbone. Goddamn tile floors.

"'Kay." Carl is too caught up in the battle to say anything else but only a few seconds later, he looks up, fingers pausing for the first time in hours.

"Hey Glenn?"

"Yeah?"

"I only talked to him for a bit, but I think Daryl's really cool. So does my dad." With that, he goes back to playing the game, the tinny sounds strangely loud in the enclosed space. For a few moments, all Glenn can do is stare at the floor, trying to sort out the ridiculous mess of thoughts that have popped into his head simultaneously. After sorting it out, he comes to one major conclusion.

He's known for a long time that he's probably too young for Daryl. After all, he _did _just sit on the floor for nigh on two hours and watch a thirteen year old play Pokemon. He knows that he's not even _close _to getting his shit together, whereas Daryl had a pretty established life before he came along and interrupted things. But when it comes right down to it (and maybe this is just a shitty justification but whatever), isn't it _better _that they aren't the same age? Glenn's never really dated anyone his own age, with the exception of a few short-term things in his early years of high school. But he's seen enough of his friends have relationships that just crash and burn to know that when there are two people who are immature, horny _and _lacking in life skills, it almost never ends well.

With Daryl… sure, the man has problems. He gets angry sometime, he reacts too quickly and he does _not _deal well with anyone 'infringing' upon his 'territory'. But Glenn has learned so much from him, small things and large. He's learned how to fix a coffee table, how to let go of the small stuff, how to chug an entire can of beer in ten seconds flat. He knows what kind of work boots are the best, the average price of cigarettes, the value of a dollar in general. He's learned that sometimes, you have to give people a lot of space if you want them to open up to you.

Mainly though, he's learned that he doesn't have to be an entirely good person in order to have a good life. He can be a little selfish sometimes, he can do things that are borderline illegal, he can do what he _wants _and not have it ruin his life.

Are any of those good lessons to learn? He really doesn't know. But he's done with thinking.

By the time he pulls himself out of his reverie and heads outside, the reception is really starting to wind down. The noise from the gym has quieted down and there's a steady trickle of guests heading for the front doors. Glenn follows them and hangs a left once he's out into the cooler night air, heading for the designated smoking area. It's off in the shadows but even in the darkness, Glenn can make out one figure, leaning against the wall, smoke wafting from his mouth. It's an all too familiar silhouette and as he gets closer, he can see that Daryl's suit jacket has vanished, either left behind in the gym or already shoved into his truck. The sleeves on his shirt are rolled up to his elbows and even then, the man still looks uncomfortable.

He also looks very, _very _fucking handsome.

"Hey." Daryl looks like he is lost in thought; he only looks up after Glenn speaks and even then, he looks startled, like Glenn has interrupted something. He quickly regains his composure, takes one last drag from his smoke and drops it into the grass, stomping it out with a motion Glenn has practically memorized.

"Where the hell you been for the last while?" he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. Glenn shrugs and steps closer, carefully testing the waters. He doesn't know if Daryl is legitimately upset or if he's just being… well, if he's just being Daryl. He takes another step forward and Daryl momentarily flinches, which is his sign to stop moving for the time being.

Another thing he's learned from Daryl: knowing how to understand body language is an _extremely _useful skill.

"I had to get out of there for awhile. People were… well, people were asking some pretty fucking stupid questions."

"Yeah, they like doin' that."

"Did they go after you too?" Glenn asks. Daryl shrugs, leaning against the wall, hands still shoved deep into his pockets. Even in the dark, Glenn can see his fingers outlined in the dark material and he really wants to get Daryl out of those pants and into bed as soon as possible.

But they've got some serious business to deal with first.

"Don't think I had it as bad as you," he finally says. "Just… got a lot of funny looks is all." For a few minutes, there's silence and Glenn takes the opportunity to close the space between them. He rests his forehead against Daryl's shoulder, nose pressing into his collarbone. He can still smell gasoline, lingering in the crook of Daryl's neck; it's a smell that never goes away and it's a smell he's grown to love.

"I'm sorry," he finally murmurs, mouthing at the fabric beneath his lips. "I shouldn't have made you come." Daryl's reaction is surprising, to say the least; his fingers clutch the back of Glenn's collar and he yanks until they're forehead to forehead.

"Kid, I _wanted _to come. Ain't never been to a wedding before. Seems like one of those things you're supposed to do." His smile doesn't reach his eyes and Glenn isn't convinced in the least. It must be obvious because Daryl sighs and tightens his grip on Glenn's collar even more.

"Look, Glenn." Those words are enough to signal Glenn that Daryl is actually being serious; he hardly ever says his name in conversation unless he actually has some serious shit to discuss. "Stop freaking out. The funny looks and stuff, sure, they fucking suck but I think we're gonna have to just ignore those. People are gonna be stupid. People are _always _fuckin' stupid, kid. But y'know, they're just gonna have to get used to this. 'Cause I'm not letting you go anytime soon."

Glenn doesn't think that he's ever heard Daryl say so much without stopping. It's actually kind of shocking and for a few minutes, he simply stares at him, trying to put together an appropriate response in his mind.

Finally, he simply grabs the collar of Daryl's shirt and kisses him, the thin fabric ripping underneath his fingers. As soon as he pulls back to take a breath, Daryl switches them around, pushing Glenn up against the brick wall of the school and slamming their mouths together. His hands are relentless, yanking Glenn's shirt out of his pants, exposing his skin to the rough surface. There's too much sensation, too much _want _coursing through his veins and Glenn really doesn't know what to do. So he simply stops thinking and does what _feels _right and for a few minutes, he feels like he's back in his Ma's kitchen, straddling Daryl's lap, completely inexperienced and doing whatever the hell felt right. It's exhilarating and the more Daryl kisses him, his lips biting and sucking down his jawbone towards his neck, the more Glenn realizes just how addicted he is to this amazing, flawed human being.

He isn't stupid; he knows that what they have isn't perfect; far from it, actually. He knows that it probably isn't going to be forever because one day, Daryl will find someone closer to his age or they'll have one last fight that they can't come back from or something else will happen that wrecks it all.

But he doesn't want perfect. He doesn't want forever. Hell, at the beginning, he hadn't wanted anything more than a good fuck but it was funny, how things worked out in the end.

"I love you." Glenn knows he should regret that the words have come out of his mouth but as soon as they leave his throat, he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. He's known it (or suspected it, at least) for a very long time, even back in the days when Daryl had snuck into his room late at night and left fingerprints bruised into his hips. Even after he'd admitted to using his mother, even after _everything _the man had done, Glenn had been all too aware that he still loved him.

If that doesn't mean something, he doesn't know what does.

But still. Daryl was more than fine with sex but usually, when it came to anything remotely resembling affection or that 'l' word, he froze like a deer in headlights.

"Daryl, I'm sorry-"

"Took ya long enough." Before Glenn can even begin to _think _of words to say, Daryl is all over him again, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, pressing against him hard enough for Glenn to feel his belt buckle digging into his stomach. He knows that the pattern will be embedded there for hours and that turns Glenn on _way _more than it should.

When Daryl pulls away again, he's actually _grinning._ It's such a rare sight that it gives Glenn goosebumps on his arms. He's used to smirks or twitches that hardly count as an expression of emotion but this? This is _definitely_ a smile. It makes him so happy that he doesn't even care that Daryl doesn't say the words back.

What he _does _say is even better.

"I ain't ever letting go of you. _Ever_. Understand?"

"Understood." With that, Daryl grabs his wrist and starts dragging him towards the truck. Glenn lets him pull him along, not only because he _really _wants to get home (and get Daryl out of that goddamn suit) but mainly because he's too busy thinking about Daryl's words. Specifically, the word ever. It's not as binding as _forever _but Glenn knows that it means the exact same thing. He also knows that he should be absolutely terrified of the word. After all, he's not even twenty years old. He's got the world ahead of him, as they say. He's got at least forty years to make mistakes, to meet people, to have lots of mindblowing sex and mediocre sex with lots of different people.

But he doesn't want that. He wants Daryl.

Sure, there were gonna be a few bumps in the road. He knows that within a week, he's probably going to yell at Daryl about something and they'll end up not speaking for a few hours. Within a month, Daryl's probably going to walk out or he'll retreat to his mom's house for a week and they'll both be stubborn until one of them eventually snaps and comes knocking. Then everything will rinse and repeat and they'll have to get a new phone (again) or patch the kitchen cabinets or adjust the patio door so that it closes properly.

But in the end, Glenn knows that none of that really matters, because they'll get through it, together. He knows that they'll figure it out. They always do.


End file.
